Destina
by scousemuz1k
Summary: Tony buys a motorcycle. And has a long talk with Vance.
1. Chapter 1

**AN: Off canon, some time season 8 onwards. Be warned – another Tony spits in Gibbs' eye and quits story, all I seem to think of any more. A reviewer asked if my last one like that was meant to be funny,** **so I wrote another one, as I love to amuse** **– they're going to plait themselves at this, then.** **Like Ziva? Like Gibbs? Don't read.**

Destina

by scousemuz1k

Tony liked Liz. She was by degrees flirty, brisk or motherly, depending on what he needed at the time, and seemed always to read which that might be. Of course, he knew she didn't reserve the talent for him alone; she was one of those genuinely nice people who had kindness and caring in their blood, but he loved to feel it directed at him. She could, of course, be the dragon that guarded the Director's door, but she never used that particular personality with Tony. Now _Gibbs_ was another thing….

Liz, for her part, liked Tony. Fine, there were many people around HQ that she liked, but she had a soft spot for the tall, somewhat careworn these days agent who always had a smile for her, or an enquiry after her family. He didn't just remember she was a brand new grandma, he remembered the baby's name. He'd often greet her with _'How's Lily?'_ , and no-one else did.

Right now, looking at Special Agent DiNozzo, (because it wasn't really Tony who'd just walked into her office,) she couldn't help thinking how much better he'd be doing if _he_ had a family. _'Stop putting people in boxes, Liz,'_ she told herself sternly, _'they either won't fit or they won't stay there.'_

And looking at him now, reading him as he hesitated beside her desk, she felt her heart sink. She didn't believe he was going to stay anywhere.

"Oh, Tony," she said softly, her eyes filling, "I _will_ miss you."

He couldn't raise a smile, but just nodded. He reached across the desk and squeezed her hand. His voice was husky. "Same here Liz, same here."

" _Director, Special Agent DiNozzo would like a word, if possible?"_

Leon Vance hesitated. He really wanted to say no, and put this off, as he had been doing for a couple of weeks. He sighed, and hoped that it was too quiet a sound or DiNozzo to hear – the guy was certainly sharp enough to have heard the hesitation. _Come on, Leon, do your job._

"Sure, Liz. Send him in."

The door opened.

"Sir..."

"Come in, DiNozzo." He didn't have to look at him closely for it to register - "Sit down, man, you look exhausted."

The agent lowered his long frame into the leather arm-chair by the coffee table, that Vance had indicated. "Thanks, Sir." He smiled wryly. "It's been a rough few days, but things are getting better."

The Director thought for a moment, then stuck his head out into the outer office.

"Liz, could you rustle me up a cup of tea? My usual? And something hot for DiNozzo?" He thought the agent would politely decline, but he sure as hell couldn't if the Director was having one. "DiNozzo... tea? Coffee?"

Liz said, "I have some lemon tea, I can put some manuka honey in it if you like. That's good for a sore throat."

Tony didn't like to say no, although all he wanted was to speak his piece and get the hell out, but he knew that she'd noticed the rather hoarse voice, and had figured that it wasn't _just_ the prospect of missing her. He was touched that she cared, so he nodded. "That would be good, Liz."

Vance dropped into the chair opposite the agent, with a good deal more ease than the fifteen years younger, active SFA had done, and steeled himself.

"Now, DiNozzo, what can I do for you?"

Tony looked at his hands, then looked up again. He was, after all, at peace with all this now; he just had to _say_ it.

"I need a couple of favours, Sir," he said, calmly, all things considered.

Vance nodded gravely, and waited.

"I need you to expedite my retirement from NCIS, as quickly and as unobtrusively as possible." _Done._

 _Retirement? Didn't see that coming._ He looked at the weary agent again, and tried to keep the alarm out of his voice, as he said, "That... would have to be on health grounds?"

The same wry smile. "Do I look that bad, Sir?"

Confession time. "I watch, DiNozzo. I've been intending to ask you up here for a chat for a few weeks now… but I was waiting for things to slot into place elsewhere. Damn… should have followed my nose. Seems like I've dropped the ball here."

"Sir?"

Vance had paused, and Tony watched him curiously. For a moment, when the Director had mentioned a 'chat' he'd thought they were back to point one on the show-Vance-I'm-not-the-waste-of-space-he-thinks-I-am scale and he was about to be fired. Now here he was, receiving a sort-of apology, for he knew not what.

"To be honest," Vance went on, "I thought you were going to slam your resignation down on my desk, or demand a transfer."

Tony said without reproof, "I don't slam, and I don't demand, Sir."

"No," Vance agreed thoughtfully, " _you_ don't." He paused, and added ruefully, "Not that you wouldn't have had cause…. Well, I was going to answer either the same way." He looked DiNozzo in the eyes. "I'd have said, take a couple of weeks leave. If you haven't got that much due, I'll authorise it anyway. Get yourself the hell away from Gibbs. And get some rest, while I work out a worthwhile TAD until a team lead position comes up."

He watched the other man's reactions carefully… and saw only regret. "But… I see that's not to be." He found himself suddenly using a familiarity he disapproved of – even Gibbs didn't get 'Jethro', in an effort to show that his concern was genuine. "Tony, how bad _is_ it?"

The younger man held up both hands, palms out, anxious to reassure. "Oh, not _that_ bad. Honestly."

Both men had to pause as Liz brought a tray in. She bore fine bone china for the Director; but she set down a tall glass for Tony, within an elegant wire holder. It was full of a clear, hot, golden liquid which smelled wonderful. Surprised and delighted, Tony said so.

Liz smiled. "It tastes even better than it looks, Tony. It'll do you good." She went out, beaming.

Vance poured his own tea, while his agent took a taste of the liquid gold and sighed with pleasure. After a moment Tony set his glass down, and squared his shoulders. Whilst he might like to sit sipping this wonderful drink all afternoon, he knew the Director was waiting patiently.

"My lungs will last me until I'm eighty, if I treat them more kindly than I'm doing at the moment," he said slowly. "If I don't, they won't last me 'til fifty. Or if by some miracle they do, I'll likely be a chronic invalid. I really don't fancy that. I'm back to seventy-five percent capacity now – when I went to see Brad on Thursday morning, and he decided to admit me on the spot, I was down to sixty and falling."

Vance winced, but didn't interrupt

"I spent three days in hospital, then Sunday at home, fighting off a bronchial infection that could have turned to pneumonia – I didn't fancy that either." (Vance was beginning to hate that wry grin.) "I can get back to eighty-five, maybe even eventually ninety, but only if I do the right things. No-brainer, really. This morning..." he went on pensively, "I got 'Three days off for a cough, Tony? Really?' from Ziva. Gibbs said nothing until I went to the water cooler with my antibiotic, then it was, 'Popping pills on company time, DiNozzo?'"

He spread his hands and gave Vance another version of the DiNozzo grin, a bright, blazing, empty one which didn't fool the Director any more than the others had. "It just confirmed the decision I'd already made, really."

He frowned, and went on thoughtfully, "You know, he used to look after me in an off-hand way. If I sneezed he'd bark at me to 'go see Ducky'. Or if we got caught out in the rain, he'd send me back with evidence, so I could get dry clothes and a rain jacket. Was a time, he even fixed it that there was a spare one in every car in the pool. Now… he just seems to think I should get with the program. Maybe he's saying that if I still get sick at the least thing, I shouldn't be on his team. Or I shouldn't be an agent at all. Difficult to say though, cuz he doesn't. Say."

"When was the last time you got sick before this?"

"Three years ago. And no, it wasn't after I dragged Gibbs out of that submerged car. Just a throat infection that got a grip."

"Nothing since? You'd think it happened every week!"

The Director took a deep breath, and this time it was Tony who took a deep pull of his honey drink, and waited.

"Tell me… none of my business… why have you stuck it for as long as you have?"

The agent's answer was prompt enough to show he'd thought about that one a few times.

"I don't give up easily. I wanted to find out what's wrong. I wanted to put it right… I've not managed to do either! Things changed… maybe… after Jen – Director Shepard – was killed… You know, when you've regarded someone as a friend, and then they're not, it's worse than if you'd never been friends in the first place… a month ago I'd have taken – heck, I'd have grabbed your offer with both hands, and I probably wouldn't have caught the bronchial thing… maybe it's for the best… maybe I'm really _not_ fit enough to be a field agent any more."

"Once every three years is hardly unfit, DiNozzo. How about if I sent you to Florida? San Diego? Naples? Hawaii?"

Tony almost wavered for a moment. "Sir…" he said sincerely, "Thanks. Really. But I've been told mountains rather than coast. Less pollution, fewer allergens, better for building up diffusing capacity."

Vance pursed his lips and nodded.

"OK." He sighed. "Shame… I'd like to have kept you. No, DiNozzo, I _would_. OK… I'll have HR work out the best possible severance package -"

He was surprised for the second time that day when Tony held up a hand, and shook his head. "Don't worry about that, Director. Put anything I'm owed into the welfare fund." He looked a bit embarrassed; he'd known he'd have to admit this bit, and he had no idea what the reaction would be. "I've got money. I mean… enough money… I always have had." He waited for the explosion, and the _why isn't that in your file._

However, Vance's reaction astonished him, and he didn't think that after ten years with Gibbs he was easily surprised. The Director shifted slightly in his seat, and gave a small smile that could have been read as triumphant. "Ah. I wondered." Tony blinked.

"I recall your father cut you off when you were twelve," Leon Vance went on carefully. "When he showed up last year, I read your file. To be honest, I was going to tear you off a strip, or at least tell Gibbs to do it; your behaviour was a bit erratic while he was around, and I wondered why. I can't say I trusted him, so I held off on the knee-jerk reaction."

"Thanks for that, Sir. It was a weird time."

"Well… I know you gained a couple of scholarships to help you through college… then it goes on to say, ' _support by mother's family'._ If you read carefully between the lines it suggests you were handed control of that support when you were twenty-two."

Tony nodded. "The family were apparently satisfied I wasn't going to blow my inheritance. I… er, I made sure the wording was obscure. I didn't really want anyone to notice."

"Well, no-one will ever find out from NCIS. Especially your father. Who – stop me if I'm wrong – is the reason for your need of secrecy."

The other man looked up, taken by surprise again. He broke into a delighted smile – the first genuine one Vance had seen. "That's right, Sir. I use the interest to supplement my income a little; the capital is well hidden until the day I find some damn good use for it. And no, my dad's never going to get his hands on it. It just seemed easier to say nothing to anyone. Um… thank you."

"You're welcome." Vance found himself having to fight down a sudden blast of acute discomfiture. He was having the first genuine, relaxed conversation he'd ever had with this agent – because the guy was leaving. He'd thought the man was an embarrassment to the agency until he'd started to observe him properly, which wasn't until he'd returned from Agent Afloat with Gibbs determined to have him back, and rousing endorsements from two distinguished captains. _Shame on you, Leon._ _Well, I've surprised him twice and not offended him – third time's the charm._

"So… er… you used a bit to buy the motorcycle."

This time Tony's reaction was pure amazement. He set his glass down hastily, before he spilled it. "Director, how the heck – I mean… _why..._ would you notice… I've only ridden her into work a few times..." He became aware that Vance was grinning at his office door. "Oh… Liz."

"Never underestimate a PA," Leon chuckled. "She goes down to lunch with some of the HR ladies, and they were all aflutter about this tall guy in leathers, who never took his helmet off until he was out of their sight, and who was he, and how they couldn't hang around outside the men's locker room to find out… next day, Liz looked out of the window and made you in one. Kept it to herself, though." He paused. "Look… I have to say though... DiNozzo, with what we've been talking about, are you _sure_ a motorbike is the right thing for you right now?"

o0o0o

 _A few weeks before…._

He had wondered if fate were plotting against him; and had come to the conclusion no, but it was certainly plotting. Fate had it that the temporary traffic signal about a mile from his home was against him every morning for a week, and every morning he sat there for maybe 90 seconds before he could drive on again.

He had plenty of time to look round; and the first time he saw her, (a lady, of course,) he didn't take a lot of notice. 'Italian,' he thought, 'Gotta love that style,' and went back to dwelling on other things less pleasant.

On the Tuesday, fate made him stop directly outside the shop window. Ducati, he mused. Not new, but in really excellent condition. She'd been loved, but now she was alone; in pride of place in the side window of the corner showroom, but still alone. Bit like him really… With McGee in Florida investigating a massive fraud, and a green-as-grass TAD who clung to him as a lifeline but couldn't relate to anything but a rule book, a Boss who lived in his own bad tempered world, and an Israeli assassin who heeded him and only him, (unless you counted her mostly absent CIA boyfriend,) he might as well have been on the moon.

On Wednesday, that damn light stopped him again; the lonely bike got his attention again. She was a tourer, black and sleek, complete with pods, an extra, rear mounted lockbox, and a tough canvas back-pack style bag on top of the tank. She'd been places, and he wondered if she longed for the open road again. Enticing thought...

On Thursday, with fate hovering hopefully, he dawdled, to the annoyance of the guy tailgating him, because he _wanted_ to miss the light. As he stared thoughtfully at the bike, it occurred to him to remember the name of the showroom, and as soon as he got into the bullpen and powered up his computer, he looked her up. In a few moments he knew all about her – her price, which was fair, he thought, her 1000cc capacity, her age, (the lady was 9 years old,) and her mileage, which was quite high. He didn't, oddly enough, find that off-putting; as he had suspected, the lady _had_ been places, and had tales to tell.

He minimised the information as Ziva entered, and brought up the cold case he'd been looking at yesterday. There were too many secrets flying around the place lately, but one more wouldn't hurt. The lady was his. _The lady was his…._ He made up his mind.

On Friday, the light changed quickly, and he only had time to fling a quick 'I'll be back' at her… but on Saturday, crossing fingers that he wouldn't be called in, he proved he wasn't lying. His heart beat faster as he walked from the metro; fate loping happily alongside him, having achieved its purpose. The lady had better not have been sold in the last twenty-four hours!

Taking a deep breath, he entered the shop… An hour, and a test ride in a borrowed helmet later, Tony DiNozzo was the proud owner of a Ducati Sport Classic 1000.

Several thousand dollars lighter, with a helmet with an earjack for his phone and a filter that meant he never had to breathe freezing cold air; boots with attitude and state-of-the-art, waterproof, close-fitting leathers with detachable insulation to protect vulnerable areas in the winter, he spoke briefly on his cell phone, and rode over to pay a house call on Brad Pitt.

o0o0o

Tony nodded acknowledgement of the Director's concern. "Dr Pitt agreed I couldn't stop living, and told me to be sensible. Seek shelter if the weather turned bad, which I'd do anyway, use my common sense."

"You didn't get put in hospital by riding the bike?" Vance worried that he was sounding like a mother hen, but DiNozzo didn't seem to mind.

"No, Sir… a homeless man -"

"Ah." Vance had read the report. Gibbs wanted to bring the man in for questioning; Tony knew well what very sick lungs sounded like, and said he needed hospital. Gibbs hadn't cared much for being contradicted, and told him fine, but he could wait with him for the ambulance. He'd done so, gone in the ambulance, since the guy had no-one else, and seen him settled in and made comfortable. The man had died two days later. "But at least not alone in an alley," Vance said quietly, repeating what the nurse who called Tony with the news had said.

"Yes, Sir. I knew it wasn't Destina's fault, but when I started to feel breathless, that was when I went straight to see Brad."

"Destina?" The Director's eyebrows went up.

"Italian for fate. It was Dr Sciuto's idea." He shook his head ruefully. "She knew what was in my mind way before I knew it myself."

 **AN: One more chapter, hopefully tomorrow, then possibly an epilogue if anyone wants one.**


	2. Chapter 2

**AN: First of all, thanks for all the lovely, kind reviews. I WILL answer them personally – just been a bit busy writing! Thanks to the two anon. Guests, and to Fred!**

Chapter 2

 _Later that same Saturday… (the day Tony bought the bike, just to be clear!)_

"Hey Abs, I just did something mad. Wanna see?"

"Something mad? Tony! What? Tell me now! What have you done?"

"Uh-uh. Patience, my sweet… Just come down to your parking lot."

Abby had scampered down, expecting to see Tony's Mustang, but it wasn't there. However, a few moments later, revving down quietly, a black motorcycle purred up beside her scarlet hot-rod and came to a halt. There was no mistaking the identity of the black leather clad rider.

"Toneeee!" she yelled, as he switched the engine off. She ran over and flung her arms round him before he could even lower the stand and dismount, let alone remove his helmet. "Tony, she's beautiful! I mean, she _is_ a lady, isn't she? Pardon? I can't hear –" and as her forehead connected _clunk_ with his visor - "oh."

She stepped back, laughing, as Tony lifted $500 worth of sleek, black Japanese contraption from his head.

"What would you have done if it wasn't me?"

Abby laughed again. "Well, some complete stranger would have got an Abby hug. But honestly, Tony… I'd know you anywhere. You know that!" She looked at the bike admiringly. "She's very elegant. Mind you, so are you in all that black leather – eye candy for all the ladies at the Yard!" Tony preened extravagantly, as she fingered the sleeve of his jacket, and regarded him consideringly. For all their light-heartedness, something was stirring uneasily in the back of her mind, but she couldn't work out what it was. "You never said anything about getting a bike, Tony. What's up?" It sounded to her something like ' _what's wrong?_ ',and she had no idea why.

"Impulse buy," he said proudly, and explained about fate, a traffic signal, and five days of looking in a shop window.

"Mmm. What's Italian for 'fate'?"

"Destino."

"That''s masculine, though."

"So it is," Tony agreed, getting her drift. "Destina, then. Destina, meet Abby, Abby, meet Destina. Come for a ride?"

"Ooh, yes! No – I mean, I haven't got a crash helmet."

Tony held up an admonishing finger, opened the lock-box behind the saddle, and lifted out a helmet with slightly worn gold decals, but clean and serviceable. "Here - borrowed this from the dealer – I have to take it back when I've given my friends a ride. You and Jimmy should about do it!"

"What… not G - er, Timmy?" She bit back the Boss's name, since she knew how things had become, but didn't know how to stop it. Tony pretended not to notice.

"You know Tim's already headed for Norfolk, to prepare to meet the rest of his fraud team. Poor Probie could be there for weeks." Abby did know; the two of them had given him a steak dinner send-off two nights ago, but she'd had to say something instead of Gibbs, and it certainly couldn't be Ziva. Tony held the helmet out. "Go on, see if it fits."

A few minutes later, he swung Destina gently out of the lot, and headed towards town, with Abby wrapped around him. They crossed the Potomac and headed north-west on the George Washington Memorial Parkway, at a respectable pace well within the law; Tony didn't want a speeding ticket on his first date with Destina, and anyway, Abby only had a light jacket.

But as they headed out of the city, Abby wasn't feeling cold at all. Travelling between tall trees, and clinging to Tony as he built the speed up to the legal limit, it was easy to forget that they were still close to civilisation, and she was revelling in the way the bike unwound the 'ribbon of highway', beloved of Woody Guthrie and other poets.

Exhilarated, she found herself humming 'This Land is Your Land' and thinking of Monument Valley and Yellowstone as they crossed back over the river at Carderock, pausing just off the beltway to watch the river for a while… but as they headed back towards town on the Clara Barton Parkway, and she caught glimpses of the city through the trees, she realised what it was that was lurking in her thoughts, and why she'd asked Tony what was up. Oh, no. Just no… In the end it was a rather sombre Abby who dismounted the bike in her parking lot.

Tony climbed off, and removed his helmet, eyes dancing. "So… did you enjoy that? Abby? What's wrong? Don't tell me I went too fast… Abby?"

She handed him the borrowed helmet, and he absently placed it alongside his own on the saddle, as his elation faded rapidly at her expression. He regarded her anxiously.

"You're leaving."

His jaw dropped for a moment. "Leaving? No, Abby, I haven't thought -"

She was all wide green eyes and earnestness. "Yes, you have, Tony. Maybe not consciously yet, but you have."

"Why d'you think that?"

She ran her hand over the brightwork of the shining black motorcycle. "Look at her, Tony. She isn't for puttering around the city. Do you really think that's why you bought her? To travel to the Yard every day? She's made for the open road and adventure. She won't be happy without it. And that's what you've bought her for."

He began to smile, if a little sadly. His smart, wise 'sis' had a way of seeing through walls sometimes. Then she ruined it. "You can't go, Tony. Gibbs needs you..."

He put his finger on her lips. "No, he doesn't. Don't go there, Abs." He didn't want to hear it. Sister that she was to him, and much as she loved him, she loved Gibbs more, and if there was a side to be taken, it wouldn't be his. That was how it was, and he wasn't complaining, but he'd hear nothing for his comfort. "Let's go get some ice-cream..." He pushed the seed she'd planted – or was it watered – firmly out of his mind.

o0o0o

The Director looked at his watch, and Tony wondered with a guilty start if he'd been wool-gathering. "Sorry Sir… I should let you get on."

"No, it's fine, DiNozzo. I was just thinking..." He picked up his desk phone. "Liz, get me Miz Bromstead in HR, would you? Ask her to come up here, and bring the necessary forms for retirement on health grounds." He looked back at Tony. "You said 'unobtrusive'. We can swing it so you can go today. Right now, if it helps." He almost laughed at the flabbergasted look on DiNozzo's face. "Now, you said a _couple_ of of favours. What was the other one?"

Tony got his wits together enough to stutter, "S-sir… er… yes, that would be great. Er… if it's not too much trouble..."

"It's not. Now, the other favour?"

"Oh, yes… I'd like to keep my license to carry."

"No problem. Many former law officers do."

Tony hoped his wince didn't show at that word 'former'. It was time, it was right, he was ready; but it suddenly felt weird. He forced himself to pay attention. "Cross-border," he added tentatively.

"Cross-border? Canada?"

"Well, yes, Sir. The way my thoughts are heading at the moment, maybe BC."

"Fine. Can do – there are protocols to do that. How long have you had your present firearm?"

"It was issued to me when I came back from Agent Afloat, Sir." Funny how things kept harking back to that time…

"It suits you? You've never wanted to change it? Take, it, then. If you turn it in, it's probably too old to be re-issued; it'll be sent for breaking up." DiNozzo was looking less worn down and so much more like his old self, with a smile as if Christmas and his birthday had all come at once; it made him smile himself.

"That's really good, Sir… thanks… you didn't have to bother..."

Vance realised with a shock, that the agent's tongue-tied reaction was less at the fact that the favours he'd asked had been granted, more at the fact that someone had _bothered_ to do it. Again, he thought of DiNozzo Senior, and Gibbs too if he was honest, but he was saved from wondering how to put that into words by the arrival of Delores Bromstead.

After greeting both men, she looked Tony up and down in her rather severe way. "Agent DiNozzo. I'm glad that Liz warned me that the person intending to retire was you. I confess it would have been rather a shock."

"I'm sorry about that, Miz Bromstead."

"Never mind; you always were full of surprises. Such as the motorcycle. I'd already wondered before Liz told me that too. My ladies are rather foolishly keen to find out your identity." Miz Bromstead allowed herself a small smile. "So, I believe, is Miss David."

" _Ziva?"_ He hadn't thought she was that interested, although he recalled a waspish remark in the week after he bought Destina.

She had walked into the bull-pen smiling, and as she sat down at her desk she'd let out a short laugh. Tony had looked up, but didn't ask her what was amusing her. She told him anyway.

"Did you know, Tony – apparently you have a new rival for the baggy-bunnies affections? They all want to know who the black-clad ninja riding the motorbike is. Clearly, they are losing their interest in you!"

He'd smiled gently, "That's too bad, Ziva," and turned back to his work.

The next day it had rained, and he'd used the Mustang instead. This provoked another remark. "I think your rival must be afraid of a bit of rain, Tony. Apparently he did not turn up today."

Tony had acted as if he were thinking about it for a moment, then said, "Oh, poor ladies. Well, the way bikers are treated by some car drivers on a fine day with good visibility, makes them think twice about risking their lives on a bad day! Never mind, I'm sure if you're that interested, he'll be back."

Delores still wore that little smile. "Well, they'll all find out soon enough now, I suppose." She set her folder of papers down. "I'm sorry to hear you're leaving..."

Half an hour later, it was all done. "There," Delores said, gathering the papers up. "I'll take care of it all." She nodded to Vance. "Director." She shook Tony's hand, a little stiffly, but her words were genuine. "I will miss you, Agent – er, Tony. I wish you a happy future." He barely had time to squeeze her hand in both of his and thank her, before she turned and marched out, Miz Bromstead once more.

There was quite a long silence, until Leon Vance asked, "Well, what will you do now?"

"Mmm… I'm stopping at Jimmy Palmer's until I hit the road, cuz I don't want people hammering on my apartment door. I'm keeping it as my postal address – I don't want to be 'of no fixed address' while I'm travelling, and he's moving in as soon as he can organise himself. I suspect he's going to need living space for two soon anyway – have you met his lady?

Vance smiled. "I have indeed."

Tony laughed. "So Jimmy gets the Mustang too – I think Breena will want an SUV in the end. I'll keep in touch through him." He sighed. "There's nothing I need from my desk. I should say goodbye to Abby… then I'll get gone." He shook the Director's hand with heartfelt gratitude, feeling both rootless and liberated all at once.

Outside the office, he hugged Liz, left and set off briskly down the stairs. Beyond the tall windows, the sun was setting. He hadn't reached the bottom before a voice snarled, "DiNozzo! What have you been doing with Vance all afternoon? We've got work to do!"

Gibbs was in his usual angry bulldozer mode, and behind him, Tony could see Ziva smiling, waiting for the fireworks. In Tim's seat, the TAD sat petrified.

The former SFA was chilly. "I had something personal to discuss with the Director, Gibbs."

"The hell you had. You going undercover again? I want to know what you talked about."

"It was private, Gibbs."

"Did you hear me? I want to know what you were talking about!"

"No, Gibbs."

If Gibbs didn't catch on from the hard undercurrent to Tony's voice, he did when Vance spoke from the top landing.

"What part of personal don't you understand, Gibbs?" He came down the stairs in a deliberately unhurried way. "I'll walk you down, Tony."

"Thank you, Director."

" _Tony?_ The Director is calling him Tony?" Ziva asked in astonishment, as the two men disappeared through the door to the stairwell. Gibbs growled something totally unintelligible and went storming up the stairs to tackle the Director's secretary. Tony and Vance looked back through the glass, and the Director shook his head. "I'll go back and rescue - "

"Gibbs from Liz," they both said together.

"I think young Fawcett might need rescuing from his TAD too," Tony added.

"I'll consider his request with sympathy, as long as he has the guts to come and make it," Vance said. "And Tony, you said you'd keep in touch. See that you do."

He went back through the door, and Tony set off down the stairs, back in that rudderless but free mood again. He stopped at his locker, cleared it, put his leathers on, and headed for the lab.

Abby looked up as he entered, and took in his garb and his expression.

"I knew it'd be today," she said calmly. "My soldiers have been out of sorts all day, and so have I."

He hugged her one armed, dangling his helmet in the other hand. "Walk me out to my bike?"

For a while as they walked, she was silent. Then the dam broke.

"You can't go. No… forget I said that. You can go. Of course you can, you have to. But what will I do without you? You will keep in touch. Won't you? Send postcards… I won't try to trace you from postmarks, I know Destina can be 100 miles away before the mailman's emptied the box… and I know you can't tell me where you're going because you know I won't be able to keep it a secret if Gibbs asks me because I can't lie to Gibbs, one look from his eyes and I -"

"I don't _know_ where I'm going, Abs."

"No, but when you do, you'll tell me you're safe? And we can skype, can't we? It doesn't have to be really goodbye, does it?"

By now, they were standing beside Destina, and on a sudden, totally foolish impulse, remembering their ride on the day he'd bought the bike, he said, "Come with me, Abs. Road trip with best friend… what could be better?"

For a moment she looked stunned; thrilled, even. Then, "But Tony..." and he knew what the next word out of her mouth would be, and how it would decide things. "Gibbs..."

He kissed her forehead. "Bye, Abs. Not for ever."

Way behind her, he could see Gibbs storming up the lot; behind him Ziva ran, looking at him and the bike with a comical expression of disbelief. He pulled the helmet over his head, and watched them until they were quite close, and he could look Gibbs straight in the eyes. Then he snapped his visor down, wheeled Destina in a graceful circle, and accelerated away.

 **AN: Not pleading or anything… but would anyone like a sequel to see where Tony ends up? Tentatively titled Tony and the Moose...**


End file.
